Chocolate Cauldrons
by Anidori-Kiladra
Summary: When he was out in the hall, without the noise of the party celebrating everything he had lost resonating in his ears, Dean could finally breathe again. Dean/Romilda oneshot.


Chocolate Cauldrons

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just here for kicks.

A/N: Just a short one-shot for Valentine's Day. It takes place just after Harry kisses Ginny after the Quidditch game in HBP. And it's Dean/Romilda, and unless I'm much mistaken, this is the first story with that pairing on this site. So knock yourself out, and don't forget to review.

When Harry Potter kissed Ginny Weasely there in the common room in front of everyone, Dean felt something inside him snap. As if it wasn't enough that she'd broken it off with him, as if it wasn't enough that he dreamed about her every night, dreamed of mixing red and gold together in perfect combination to create the exact shade of her hair.

And Harry had the nerve to look over at Dean as well; look at him standing there in the corner as Harry happily snogged away with the only person Dean had ever wanted. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to get out.

Dean crossed to the portrait hole without meeting anyone's gaze. Seamus tried to grab his arm as he went by, but Dean shook him off. When he was out in the hall, without the noise of the party celebrating everything he had lost resonating in his ears, Dean could finally breathe again.

He made his way to the library, and, once he got there, to a table in the back, hidden by the high shelves. Dean sat and buried his head in his arms, hoping for some peace and quiet in which to sulk.

But it was not to be. No sooner had Dean found a comfortable position with his nose in the crook of his elbow than he heard a huffy sigh, followed by the loud flump of a book being thrown to the ground.

Dean looked up to see a girl he vaguely recognized stomping through the row of books nearest him.

"Oi!" he called out. "I'm trying to wallow in despair here; mind keeping it down?"

She stomped over to him, eyes blazing. "Well, I'm angry, despair boy, and I'll do whatever I bloody well please." She paused. "If I were you, I'd be angry too. Weren't you dating her?"

Dean sighed, debated the trouble he'd likely be in if I hit her over the head with a book, decided it wasn't worth it, then nodded. "I'm Dean Thomas."

"Romilda Vane." She sat down beside him, then stood up again. "I hate that Harry Potter," she burst out savagely. "I tried so hard to make him like me, and he-he-" She sat down again with a defeated look on her face.

"I know he's supposed to be my mate and everything, but sometimes I hate him too," Dean replied tiredly.

"That Ginny Weasely is a tart," Romilda offered.

"Too right," he said, feeling a sense of relief that at least he was not alone in this.

"So, you're in fourth year, right," he asked, trying to make conversation.

"Yes," she replied, opening her schoolbag and pulling out a red box. She took off the lid and held it out to him. "Chocolate Cauldron? I told Harry I didn't like them, but really I love them. Can't get enough." She picked one out and held it between her fingers, licking her lips before stuffing the Cauldron into her mouth.

During the next hour, while they devoured the candy between them, Dean discovered that Romilda's mother was a muggle and her father a wizard, that she liked Transfiguration but hated Herbology, and that she secretly envied Hermione Granger's bushy hair.

"You shouldn't," he said, almost unconsciously reaching out to brush a strand of raven black hair off her cheek. "Your hair is lovely."

"Thank you." She grinned impishly up at him. "So what about you? What do you like?"

"I like to draw," said Dean. "I like Muggle Studies only because it's fun knowing more than the professor, and I like talking to you."

Dean wondered what had made him say that last bit. Perhaps he had consumed a lot more butterbeer than he'd thought before Harry had arrived at the party. Thinking about the party, Dean glanced at his watch and realized that it was nearing ten o'clock. Madame Pince must not have noticed them when she had come around to chivvy students out to the library at eight.

"We'd better be getting back," he said, and they walked back to Gryffindor Tower side by side.

"Quid Agis," Romilda told the portrait, and the Fat Lady swung forward.

They stood for a moment in the common room, not quite sure what to do next.

Romilda stepped closer to him. "I liked talking to you too, Dean," she said, and, reaching up, clasped her hand behind his neck and kissed his cheek before climbing the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

Dean stood still in the common room, his hand touching his cheek, for a long time before climbing the stairs to his own dormitory.

That night, like so many other nights before it, Dean fell asleep thinking of a girl. But on this night his thoughts strayed not to fiery red hair and freckles on an upturned nose but flashing dark eyes and hair black and sweeping as a raven's wing, a color that he knows he will learn to create.


End file.
